


A Place of Future Dreams

by keiliss



Series: Future Dreams [2]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works
Genre: Fireworks, M/M, Rain, Sheep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-02
Updated: 2009-12-02
Packaged: 2017-10-04 02:37:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keiliss/pseuds/keiliss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fireworks, rain and a flock of sheep. Or - finding love in unlikely places</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline: T.A. 1100+
> 
> Seneschal:  
> 1\. the steward or major-domo of a medieval great house.  
> 2\. chiefly historical, a governor or other administrative or judicial officer.

Elrohir struggled to his feet and stood swaying in the gloom, his mind curiously light and empty. He had no idea where he was or why, and neither question seemed relevant. Something had hurt him, attacked him with a blow to the head, and he needed to escape before it came back.

He gave the large metal box in the middle of the floor a puzzled look as he passed it. He had an idea it had fallen from one of the nearby shelves but the details were strangely unclear. Behind him, the lantern he had dropped at the time of the accident lay forgotten; the line of fire that sputtered towards the recently stacked boxes went unnoticed. He was almost at the door when flame met powder and a wall of sound swallowed the world. A blast of searing air lifted him off his feet and hurled him violently against the wall.

In the moments that he lay dazed on the floor, shock and the earlier blow to his head combined to roll back the years of maturity, and his mind slid to childhood with all its attendant tales and terrors. Struggling to his knees, Elrohir looked around wildly. He was under attack - a being of fire… whirling whips of light… flames leaping amidst a roar akin to thunder.

A Balrog, he thought in dawning horror. It must surely be a Balrog

* * * * 

The fire roared, flames licking along the cliffside above the storerooms, spreading rapidly towards the living quarters near the kitchen. Accompanying it was a display of fireworks the like of which Imladris had never before seen, a confusion of colours and shapes that exploded in a noisy, continuous stream high above the House.

Erestor's office was on the other side of the Last Homely House, and by the time he arrived on the scene Caedion had already taken charge. The former warrior had stationed himself near the storeroom's entrance, and was busy shouting orders and assigning duties. Amidst screams and cries and the crackle of flames, a bucket line was in the process of being set up, while beaters with wet sacks were already hard at work on the outskirts of the fire.

Erestor came to a halt, briefly mesmerized by the raw, elemental power that roared and spat like a sentient being. Shaking off fascination, he began to fasten his hair up on top of his head and roll back his sleeves, his mind racing as he tried to think what else, if anything, needed to be done. He was about to arm himself with a sack when an idea wrapped in memory struck him.

"Go and find Níngabel and Cyllon," he instructed a young Elf hovering nearby, naming two Sindarin with a strong affinity for fire. "Ask them if there is some way they can halt the flames."

'No use in Elves having so-called 'magic' if they aren't prepared to use it.' Isildur's words, the sneer intact a thousand years on, returned to him. Hot-headed, long dead Isildur, who would have made a weapon of anything he could get his hand around. Erestor had never liked Elendil's sons but this about 'magic' was a point he had been willing to concede.

Spotting the seneschal about to join the beaters, Caedion yelled, "Not there, we have enough hands for this. Inside. Join Berianir's group. Make sure no one is trapped."

Waving acknowledgement, Erestor wet a rag and, wrapping it about his head, did as bidden. Making his way inside through clouds of smoke and ash, he looked around, taking a moment to orient himself. The air was searing hot, his eyes stung and teared. In minutes the loose ends of his hair began to crackle and disintegrate. The area to the left of the entrance was for storage and was currently engulfed in flames, whilst the rooms to the right were residential. Stunned at the damage that had occurred in such a short time, he turned right.

Dodging falling masonry and explosions of sparks, he soon caught sight of a small party of Elves up ahead, but an instinct drew him off instead to explore one of the many side passages. Half blinded by smoke, he quickly realised it was both safer and wiser to operate in a group. He was about to turn back and look for Berianir when, beneath the fire's fury, he heard faint sounds similar to the mewling of a kitten followed by very un-catlike coughing.

Moving carefully, he tracked the cries to a doorway on the far side of a barrier of flames. His mouth quirked in an ironic smile as he realised that, typical of his luck, there was no one else close enough to lend a hand - he would have to deal with this alone. He studied the line of fire for a moment, estimating its speed, then took a deep breath and leapt through a gap in the flames, hastening to push open the door.

At first he thought he had been mistaken, the room empty and the risk unnecessary. Then through the billowing smoke he saw the figure of a girl lying curled in terror on the floor against the far wall, apparently in denial of the horror at her door. The inner rooms were carved out of the cliffside, the lack of windows making them the least desirable of the House's accommodation. It also meant that, for her, there was no escape except through the flames.

Erestor hurried to her, bending to grasp her arm and shake her hard. He was a naturally kind person, but there was a time and a place for everything, and no room for gentleness when flames were almost literally licking at the door.

"Get up!" he snapped. "Come on, girl. I'll help you, but I'm not carrying you."

The girl moaned softly and, putting her hands over her face, began to cry. Erestor sighed. Wars were easier, he thought. Warriors knew what they were meant to be doing and did it. Usually. He knelt and pulled her into a seated position, trying to ignore the increased crackling just beyond the doorway. Placing an arm around her back and the other under her knees he lifted her, staggering slightly under her weight before finding his balance.

"Hold onto me. Close your eyes. And try to keep still."

The flames had grown higher in the short time he had been in the room, and the heat was intense. For a minute, half deafened by the noise, he leaned against the wall and contemplated the fiery barrier between them and open air. Then, taking a deep breath and holding it, he bent his head and ran. The flames caught at his sleeve and at the trailing ends of the girl's dress. She began screaming, but by then they were already clear.

Her cries had attracted attention, and they were joined almost immediately by rescuers. Willing hands helped extinguish the tongues of fire flickering along his sleeve and her dress, then they were led outside to safety.

* * * * 

Elrohir had no memory of accidents and storerooms, no explanation for the inferno behind him other than the one that had first sprang to mind - a Balrog. Defenseless against an enemy before which most Elves would have quailed and fled, and intent on naught beyond the need to escape, he stumbled unseen down the path behind the stables and into the trees. Hide. He had to find some place to hide.

* * * * 

Erestor sat on a crate sipping a cup of elderberry wine someone had pressed into his hand. Currently he was watching Níngabel and Cyllon, seated on the grass a safe distance from the conflagration. Eyes remote, faces calm, they seemed oblivious to their surroundings. Erestor had no idea what they were doing, but the heart of the blaze had begun to subside shortly after their arrival; buckets of water and wet sacks were proving sufficient to the remaining task.

At his suggestion an informal headcount was underway which, he hoped, would confirm the lack of fatalities. Not only had the people of this valley become his own and dear to him, but he also felt there was something especially distressing about Elves losing their lives as the result of natural forces. The Firstborn were meant to be at one with the elements, able to adapt to their many moods.

Except for fire. Fire turned dreams to ashes, ended Ages…

"You're quite the hero, they say."

Glorfindel had not so much as a hair out of place, although Erestor had seen him beating out flames along the route to the kitchen. The reborn Elf almost always managed to look impeccable, and Erestor privately wondered if personal neatness had been a rule in Gondolin, a place known for improbable laws governing all manner of civil behaviour. Either that or it was simply one of those unlikely personal quirks.

"No idea what you're talking about," he responded coolly, looking up at the tall Elf with the golden hair, so conspicuous in a community tending to darker shades.

He and Glorfindel had developed a relatively uncomplicated friendship. Occasionally they flirted, often they bandied words; right now Erestor was in no mood for either. He had spent what had felt like an eternity searching through burning rooms, all, thankfully, unoccupied. The smoke had left him with a headache, and the thought of all that would need to be done over the next few days made him tired. The idea that it would have been nice if there had been someone specifically worried for him was one that he had ruthlessly stamped on. He loathed self-pity.

He was also less than comfortable dealing with praise, and changed the subject firmly. "Do you know if anyone's missing? Caedion seemed to think not..."

Glorfindel was a friendly, easy-going tease, but he also knew when to stop. It was one of the reasons Erestor, who normally kept the world at a polite distance, had slowly allowed him into the small circle of people he regarded as friends. Now the reborn Elf hunkered down beside the crate, shaking his head.

"All the kitchen staff seem accounted for. As well it happened during the day, though. After dark could have been… very different." Glorfindel had seen fire at night. He reached a hand to Erestor's winecup as he spoke and drank deeply before returning it with a dramatic shudder. "Phuh, what is this? It's awful! How can you drink it?" Meeting Erestor's eyes he added seriously, "Teasing aside, I'm told you could have been trapped in there. It was work well done."

Erestor nodded brief thanks then grinned. "The wine? Elderberry, I think – disgusting, isn't it? But it's wet. Not really worried about the taste. Though I notice that didn't stop you from downing almost half. And you're right, if this had happened tonight, there would have been deaths."

They sat together and shared the wine in companionable silence, which was finally broken when a fountain of green stars exploded high above the House, the first such display for some time.

"I meant to ask," Glorfindel said, gesturing. "Any idea where the fireworks came from?"

Erestor nodded briefly, watching the spray of colour die away. "Yes, but I'm more interested in how they got here. Elrond had ordered them stored well away from the House in case of just such an accident."

Glorfindel raised an eyebrow and was about to ask further when Elladan joined them, his face tense with worry. He was dressed with more formality than usual in response to his role as temporary Lord of the Valley, and the hem of his elegant blue robe was soot-blackened and damp. After a brief greeting, he hesitated then asked in careful tones, "Has either of you seen my brother?"

Some tiny undercurrent in his voice alerted Erestor. "No, not this afternoon." He glanced at Glorfindel, who also shook his head.

"Not a sight of him, no," he confirmed.

Elladan looked around, biting his lip. This was the first time he had been left officially in charge of Imladris in his father's absence, and the feigned air of confidence which he had been bringing to his role as Elrond's substitute seemed to have completely deserted him.

"Is something wrong, Elladan?" Erestor asked mildly. Deciding on a casual approach, he handed the cup back to Glorfindel and set to tidying his hair, letting it down from the knot on top of his head.

"No... that is… I'm not sure." Elrond's son, inheritor of his grandfather Celeborn's tall, slender frame and his father's colouring, was staring at the section of the House where the greatest damage had occurred. "They've checked in there, right?" he asked. "In the storerooms? To make sure they were empty."

"I was in there myself," Glorfindel assured him. "As far as we could go, anyway. It's a mess – debris everywhere. That was – quite an explosion."

He sounded impressed. Fireworks were new to him, and thus far his only experience of them had been during times of celebration. He had been unaware till now of the damage a large scale detonation could cause.

"Elladan, is there something you would like to tell me?" Erestor asked uneasily, rising as he spoke. He knew the face of guilt when he saw it. "Is there some reason why Elrohir might have been inside there? Is that why you were asking if we had seen him?"

"Elrohir? I was right then. Something seemed badly amiss with him."

Gildor Inglorion had moved up behind them with a hunter's stealth but, as always, his appearance turned heads. Plainly dressed after the manner of the wandering companies, his only ornament was an intricately-worked silver broach that clasped his grey cloak across one shoulder. Lean and muscular, his auburn hair hung in a straight, shining fall to his waist and his eyes were the smoky blue found in a fire's heart.

As ever, his presence was unheralded. He would appear in Imladris, stay for a week or a month, and then fade back into the wild once more. He might bring twenty of his companions along, he might arrive alone. What was most often remarked upon was the way these visits had increased in the years since Erestor had left the wandering companies to settle in the hidden valley.

Now, his eyes alive with curiosity, he turned to Elladan. "I saw your brother on my way down to the bridge," he explained. "He told me to flee – It was upon us. He appeared not to know me, but… well, he seemed unhurt and I saw smoke rising from the House - I thought I might be needed here. I tried to make him come with me, but he ran off into the forest. I should have… Sparrow, what in Arda happened to your hair?"

Erestor, whose face had lit at the sight of an old and dear friend, suddenly became conscious of his appearance. Besides the damage to his clothing, a glance down at the normally glossy black curls he was attempting to braid revealed ash and badly singed ends. He held up a lock and pulled a rueful face. "Nothing serious, it'll wash. A trim wouldn't hurt either." He pushed the offending hair back behind his ears, giving up attempts to tidy it. "You say he seemed not to know you? What do you mean?"

Gildor shook his head, his eyes on the still-smouldering building. "He seemed to be running away from something or someone… And he sounded confused, incoherent."

Elladan touched Erestor's arm lightly but insistently. "Can I speak to you – privately?" he asked urgently, his voice low.

Erestor's left eyebrow twitched. He suspected he knew what was coming. In Elrond's absence Elladan might nominally be lord of Imladris, but there was no confusion as to who was in charge should anything go seriously wrong. Then it became wholly and completely the seneschal's responsibility.

"Nice of you to visit," Glorfindel was saying to Gildor, his voice dry and expressionless. "Care to get your hands dirty? There is actual work to be done here."

Erestor, moving to one side with Elladan, hoped Glorfindel was simply making an effort to distract Gildor. For reasons that eluded him, the two Elves shared a mutual antipathy and missed few opportunities to bait one another. Erestor assumed they were simply too dissimilar to get along.

"Well?" he asked the young Half-elf bluntly.

Elladan, his eyes anywhere but on Erestor's face, said, "We thought it would be a nice surprise if we could greet my parents when they returned with a little… style. Arwen wanted fireworks… We thought it would be impossible, but she said there was a supply in one of the huts down the valley and we thought…. Well, I brought them up to the House this morning, Rohir was meant to store them somewhere safe…"

"That seems to have gone a little awry," Erestor said, nodding with a calm he was far from feeling. "Well, at least we know he's not trapped somewhere in the House. It's probable he was stunned by the blast. You would know if there was something seriously the matter, wouldn't you?"

The Half-elf nodded slowly. He and Elrohir had a connection of sorts, a sense of one another's wellness that crossed the miles. Most people dismissed it, but his father took the link seriously, as did Erestor who had seen stranger things during his time with the Company of the Bear. Now Elladan said carefully, "I know he's conscious, otherwise I would have been in there moving rubble myself. But… something is not… right…?"

Erestor took a slow, deep breath, held it and then exhaled. Elrond's life had been one, long catalogue of almost unimaginable loss, and he could not even begin to imagine having to tell him that harm had come to one of his children.

"Elrohir's alive, that's the main thing," he said evenly. "The only way to find out why he ran from Gildor, whom you have both known all your lives, is to find him." He glanced at the sky as he spoke. The clouds that had overhung the valley all day had darkened and thickened. Rain threatened before sunset. "We need to do so before the weather turns," he added.

Elladan nodded. "I just need a few minutes to change…"

"No," Erestor told him firmly. "You have to stay here, Dan. Your father would not have left while people were hurt and the fire still smouldered. Neither can you."

Glorfindel appeared to have heard at least part of the conversation. He now offered his opinion, which carried the added weight of his rank. "If there was no one else to look for your brother it would be understandable, but as it is… I can go with Erestor. You need to remain here."

The reborn Elf had shared an unusual Beltane celebration with Elrohir the previous year. While this had not led to the more intimate relationship that the young Half-elf might secretly have liked, friendship had grown between them and Glorfindel was noticeably protective towards Elrond's younger and more accident-prone son. That he should choose to be involved in the search was hardly unexpected. What happened next, was.

Gildor, who had been listening to the exchange with a thoughtful look, quirked an eyebrow in Glorfindel's direction. "I'm afraid I have to concur with that, son of my friend," he told Elladan. "As we seldom agree, that must mean he's right. And I will go along as well," he added, smiling blandly at Glorfindel. "After all, it was I who saw him last."

On cue, Erestor's head started to throb.


	2. Chapter 2

Elrohir kept low, moving steadily away from the place where he had seen the creature. The noises he made crashing through the bushes was beginning to frighten him. If he could hear them, so could anyone – or anything – following him. He had no idea if a Balrog would take the time to track one small Elf, but he could take no chances.

The sound of running water close at hand made him stop in his tracks. In his mind he could hear his Adar's voice saying very sternly, "You will not go down to the river alone again. The water can be treacherous."

Whimpering softly, he paused, trying to think. Not that way, not to the water-sound then. Adar would be cross. Up? The ground sloped up and away from the river. He knew there were rocks aplenty to hide amongst up there because he and Dan often played Cave Troll along the cliff. And he would have warning; he would hear the Balrog's approach, the roar of its flame, the cracking of its whip…

His head hurt, and he was frightened and desperately confused. He thought that if he could just lie down somewhere safe for a while, somewhere dark and quiet, his head would clear and he would know what to do next.

* * * * 

"Try down that way."

"There is nothing there except scrub and rocks. We need to follow the river."

"Why would he have gone all the way down to the river if you saw him heading up towards the cliff? Be logical, Inglorion." In a lower voice, Glorfindel added, "If that is even possible."

Erestor gritted his teeth and resisted the impulse to shout at both of them to go back to the House and leave him to search in peace. The bickering had started even before they set out and had not stopped since. Gildor wanted to go left, Glorfindel insisted on right. Gildor thought it would be best to search amongst the trees, Glorfindel felt the rocky incline leading up to the cliff made a more sensible starting point.

"Could we just try and think instead of… reacting?" Erestor asked in a tired voice. He had not even stopped to change, and he was beginning to wonder why. A change of clothing, a hot bath, hair washed, a good meal – that might have given the two of them time to at least agree on a general area for their search.

Glorfindel, whose Quenya accent always became more pronounced when he was annoyed, said, "There would be no reason for him to suddenly double back down to the river, Erestor. He was heading towards the cliff – we should be higher up, looking amongst the rocks."

"I've already explained he seemed confused, almost childlike," Gildor snapped. He directed his next words to Erestor, moving to stand close beside him and look down into his eyes, creating an intimate circle of two. "It would be a simple matter for him to get turned around. Staying close to water is a natural instinct – and tracking is something you and I both excel at. Not a skill they had much call for in Gondolin, of course."

He added this last with just a hint of condescension. Glorfindel bristled.

Council meetings in Lindon had given Erestor long and often painful experience in seeking out the middle ground between conflicting opinions, loudly held. The first step was to appear as unbiased as possible so he moved away from Gildor to avoid any hint of it being the two of them against Glorfindel. A glance at the sky warned that they were running out of time. The clouds had become uniformly black and ominous.

"All right, let’s think this through. He was on this path when you saw him wasn’t he, Gildor? So we should keep to it a while longer at least," he said. "Hopefully we can find some sign before we lose the light. If not, we have to assume Elrohir is hurt and not reasoning as he should, and that his actions will be instinctive. I believe the twins used to play up amongst the rocks when they were small, while the river bank was forbidden to them unsupervised. So if we find nothing soon, the logical direction is up."

Glorfindel nodded. Gildor frowned. Erestor sighed and set off again, following the main path which led deeper into the valley, towards the open land where the community's small flock of sheep grazed.

* * * * 

Wet, he was so wet. Nana would be angry.

It had been raining for some time before Elrohir noticed, so intent was he upon finding a good hiding place from the enemy that hunted him. Several times he heard sounds or movement that could have been made by small animals, or could have been the stealthy tread of – something larger, darker. When that happened, he hid until he was certain he was once more alone.

The rain kept falling and he was bitterly cold. Tired and afraid, he forced his way through thick bushes, unaware of the nearby trail that would have taken him up onto the cliff path. His body ached, although he no longer remembered how he had been hurt. He wanted to go home. He stopped, near to tears. Where was home? Nana would be there, and Adar. Adar would know what to do…

The air was split by an unearthly clap of sound and a brilliant flash dazzled his eyes, momentarily turning the world white. Elrohir made a small, terrified sound in his throat and backed away. It was here. It had found him. It was announcing itself. He needed to hide, had to find somewhere to hide…

A second thunderous crash exploded around him, coupled with an eye-stinging bolt of lightning, and he turned to run. The tree root seemed almost deliberately to insert itself into his path and he tripped, falling headlong. Stones slid from under him and next moment he was tumbling down the shallow slope, gravel, grass and fallen leaves following him in a small, damp cloud.

He came to a bumpy halt at last, up against one of a row of berry bushes and lay still, consciousness sliding away from him like water from a leaking pail. The last thing he knew before blackness descended was a terrifying snuffling close beside his head.

* * * * 

"It's pointless, Sparrow. No chance of following any sort of trail in this weather. We should go back, wait till it eases off."

Erestor had thought the day could get no worse, but the sudden downpour had proved him wrong. The rain, which had begun slowly, was now crashing down and Gildor needed almost to shout to make himself heard. Within the sounds of rain and wind, he thought he heard a low, warning rumble. Flickers of light across the sky confirmed his suspicion. Thunder.

"There is no trail." His raised voice contained a discernable edge. "We were trying to find one, remember?"

"Superior tracking skills, and all that." Glorfindel's comment was made in an undertone, but the eddying wind chose that moment to change, carrying his words clearly. Erestor turned to glare at him, but the warrior was the picture of innocence, staring through the rain towards the natural sheep pen formed by berry bushes planted closely together to form a hedge.

"We were obviously not looking in the right place," Erestor said flatly, his clipped tone a warning. "Otherwise one of us would have seen something. And the trees are no help – they would warn of the passing of a stranger, but not a child born and raised in their valley."

Gildor placed a hand lightly on his arm. "Perhaps we need to try higher up as you suggested? Are there any decent sized caves?"

A jagged bolt of lightning forked across the sky and the grumbling thunder rose to a sudden, ear-splitting crack, drowning out Erestor's reply. He started, which encouraged Gildor to slide the hand up to his shoulder in yet another non-verbal reminder of how long and how well they had known one another. Gildor normally kept his hands to himself, and Erestor suspected he just did it to annoy Glorfindel, although he was unclear as to why it should.

This time, however, the reborn Elf's interest was elsewhere. Following his gaze, Erestor could make out sheep milling through the gap in the hedge into their pen. He knew there was a stone shelter at the far end. He also knew the sheep were notoriously too stupid to make use of it unless driven there.

"Idiot animals," he muttered.

The comment met with a broad smile and laughing blue eyes. "Not the brightest, no. But I like the little black and white ones. They seem to have more energy than the plain ones." Glorfindel had never seen sheep before coming to Imladris and found them, like much else in the valley, enthralling.

"Intelligence would be a bonus." Gildor moved next to Erestor again so that they were standing with shoulders touching. "The best they can do is give us wool for blankets and clothing. And meat, of course."

"Right," Glorfindel muttered. Gildor had a habit of offering sardonic pearls of wisdom like that, which Erestor usually found funny but for some reason seemed to annoy Glorfindel immensely.

Lightning turned the sky white, peals of thunder made the air vibrate. He raised a hand to shield his eyes as the wind turned and gusted rain into his face. "Something fell down the slope above the sheep," he told Erestor. "Something large. I think we should go and make sure they're all right?"

Erestor looked at him blankly. They were sheep…

"They do seem upset by something," Gildor conceded, his head tilted to one side to catch sounds other than bleating through the overlay of driving rain.

Water trickled down Erestor’s face and neck, his hair hung around him like a sodden cloak. He looked in disbelief from one to the other of his companions. "Elrohir is out there somewhere in – this – and you two want to go check up on a flock of sheep?"

"We should also get out from under these trees while there's lightning." Glorfindel tried to sound reasonable despite having to raise his voice. "Not the safest place."

"Elves don't get struck by lightning," Erestor snapped with an assurance based upon nothing more than his own annoyance.

"Trees do," Gildor said with annoying equanimity. "Sometimes small animals. Is there any shelter down there? I seem to recall a hut of some kind? Be reasonable, Sparrow, we can't see a thing in this."

"Stone shed," Erestor replied shortly. If they were both determined, there was no point in arguing. He started down the muddy track towards the field. "We can wait out the worst of the storm there. But as soon as the lightning stops, we continue the search."

* * * * 

Erestor had forgotten what it was like to be caught outdoors in a storm of such magnitude, the vulnerability of being exposed while the thunder crashed and the landscape lit with blue-white light. Protected as it was by the power of one of the Three, extreme weather was a rarity in the Elven stronghold of Imladris. Under normal circumstances, Vilya reached out and spoke to the excesses of nature. Right now, however, rain came down in a solid sheet and the wind howled.

'This,' he reminded himself as he leaned into the wind, head bowed, 'is what happens when Elrond goes away and Vilya lies inactive.'

Currently the Ring of Air was tucked away in a drawer in Erestor's bedroom. This was not the first time it had been left in his care; it became his responsibility every time Elrond was absent from Imladris because, meshed into the fabric of the land, the Ring never left the valley. In times past it had hung on a chain round his neck every time Gil-galad went into battle, including the final assault against Sauron. As a strategist in charge of signals, Gil-galad had reasoned – rightly as it turned out – that Erestor would be outside of the main fighting and less likely to get killed.

He had a sudden, stinging memory of the night that had marked the end of the Second Age, of pulling the chain over his head and all but flinging Vilya at Elrond…

Glorfindel's hand on his arm was just in time to keep him from walking straight into a tree. "Careful… Are you all right?"

The light voice was unexpectedly close to his ear, dispelling past memories. Erestor returned to the here and now, to Imladris and concern for its lord's youngest son.

"Rain in my eyes," he replied briefly, dashing a hand across them. "Thank you."

And yes, after so long that was the only explanation he would admit to. He had no patience with Elves who failed to know when it was time to put off mourning and move on with life. He could feel Glorfindel watching him, and turned hastily away. The hedge was just ahead, the rain so heavy he could barely see Gildor making his way around to the opening used by the sheep.

"Through here." Glorfindel had to shout to make himself heard above the wind and rain. A large hand closed on Erestor's arm, guiding him to a gap in the bushes. They pushed their way between branches, coming out on the edge of a small clearing, at one end of which stood the promised shelter. The sheep, as expected by Erestor at least, were nowhere near it, but were instead huddled off to one side.

Gildor, entering the clearing at the same moment but from the opposite end, shouted for their attention and hurried towards the animals. For a bemused moment, Erestor thought he wanted help in chasing them under shelter, but then Glorfindel yelled something, the words whipped away by the wind, and ran to join him. Erestor followed, shoving confused sheep out of the way, and was the last to reach the figure huddled on the ground beside the hedge.

"Elrohir?" he gasped, pushing past Glorfindel. Almost fearfully he rested a hand on the young Half-elf's chest to make certain he was breathing.

"We have to get him under cover!" Despite the fact that their heads were almost touching, Gildor had to shout to be heard. "Over there…"

"We need to check him for injuries first," Erestor shouted back, starting to feel along Elrohir's ribs. "Not move him until we're sure…"

"You can't see a damn thing in this," Gildor interrupted. "He's likely to drown before you're finished." A bolt of lightning streaked across the sky, outlining land and trees in blue radiance. Thunder roared. With a warrior's pragmatism, Glorfindel reached down and lifted Elrohir almost effortlessly into his arms. "Come on. Let's go. Now!"

* * * * 

…and the creature found him and pounced! With a sound beyond description, it enfolded him, overpowering him. Elrohir struggled frantically to escape, striking out at something as solid and immobile as a brick wall. Somewhere behind the sounds he was making, he heard a grunt that was not his own. Somewhere beneath the sound of the Balrog was a voice, words...

There was a brief period of motion, then whatever carried him laid him down on the ground. He rolled clear and at once began crawling desperately away. He kept his eyes closed. He could not open them -he was too afraid of what he might see.

* * * * 

Elrohir regained consciousness almost as soon as Glorfindel picked him up and began struggling and lashing out wildly. The storm was almost on top of them, conversation rendered all but impossible by roll after ear-splitting roll of thunder. There was no point in further discussion - they ran for cover.

The rough-built shelter consisted of three and a half stone walls with a thatched roof and a floor of beaten earth; it was basic but at least it kept the rain off. A few of the more sensible sheep had found their way in and occupied one corner. They were Glorfindel's favourites, the little ones with the randomly scattered black patches. Erestor wondered if they were really smarter than the others, or just more susceptible to the cold.

Glorfindel carried Elrohir to the driest corner and laid him carefully on the ground. The Half-elf immediately rolled onto his hands and knees and began to crawl back towards the entrance, his hair falling down over his face, his body shaking.

Seriously worried now, Erestor hastily knelt and placed his hands firmly on Elrohir's shoulders, wincing to feel him jump and try to pull away. "Rohir," he said firmly and clearly. "It's me, Erestor. Everything is all right; no one is going to hurt you. Look, it's me, open your eyes…"

"…must run," Elrohir whispered. "Must get away. It will find you too. It is here…"

"Child, there is nothing and no one here except myself, Gildor and Glorfindel." And a few sheep, he thought, forcing down a bubble of inappropriate mirth.

"Glorfindel?" Elrohir asked in a small, hopeful voice. He blinked, raising his head to try and focus on Erestor's face. "He can stop it… He will know how to fight it."

"What is hunting you, Elrohir?" Gildor asked gently. He crouched with cat-like grace on the ground next to Elrohir but was careful not to touch him. Yet another crash of thunder combined with a searing bolt of lightning punctuated his words. Elrohir whimpered and cringed.

"It's there…" he gasped. "The Balrog… It's here!"

"..Balrog…?" Glorfindel visibly resisted an impulse to look around.

Erestor reached forward and pulled Elrohir into his arms. The Half-elf was soaked to the skin and shivering. Erestor held him close, stroking his hair back as he said, pitching his voice over the storm, "Elrohir, child, there is no Balrog here. There is nothing, only us and the storm. There is a storm, Rohir, thunder and lightning, nothing more. You are safe, we will keep you safe."

"Nana. Want Nana…"

The three Elves exchanged startled glances. Gildor shook his head firmly at Glorfindel who had opened his mouth to speak.

"Sshh, it will be all right," Erestor said gently. There was a large swelling on the side of Elrohir's head, which he explored quickly though carefully. The dark head tried to pull away from his touch, suggesting the area must be as painful as it looked.

Glorfindel was watching over Erestor's shoulder. Now he asked, "He struck his head? Would that have caused this confusion? He sounds like a small child..."

"I am no healer," Erestor replied, "But it seems possible. And they tell the children stories of Balrogs that sound like a great storm, fire and thunder…"

"Sounds about right," the former Balrog Slayer muttered.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to trivialize it…"

"Not a problem. It was rather like being in the middle of a storm as far as I remember… not that I remember much. Fortunately."

Erestor had Elrohir's head pressed against his shoulder now and was unconsciously rocking him. He looked behind him through a tangle of wet hair at Glorfindel. "You don't remember? I never realised that."

"Not too much, no. A lot of the time it's more like sharing some one else's memories."

"Excuse me." Gildor had to speak twice, his voice raised on the second attempt. The rain battered down, the sheep shuffled in their corner. More had wandered in, following the Elves. Two heads, one dark, the other a shade of dull gold, turned to him. Gildor gestured before him. "Fire," he said shortly. "When you're finished you might want to bring him over here."

Erestor blinked at his tone. Glorfindel shrugged and moved forward. "If you help me, I can probably lift him without disturbing him too much. Look, his eyes are closed."

Between them they carried Elrohir over to the small fire Gildor had built up from twigs and leaves. And sheep dung Erestor noted, wrinkling his nose. He sat close to the small flames, still holding Elrohir. "I still have no idea how you do this," he told Gildor, his face alight with admiration. "You make it look so easy. How long can you keep it burning? He's ice cold."

Hazy blue eyes sparkled in the firelight. "Long enough," Gildor assured him. "We just need to keep feeding it with – yes Glorfindel, good. Collect anything that’s dry enough to burn."

Glorfindel, who responded badly to patronizing tones, looked ice in Gildor's direction, but went on collecting dried debris. One corner even yielded a couple of neatly cut branches, possibly intended for firewood. One of the sheep went over to see if he had found something for it to eat and he patted its head, amused. The wool was wet and a little coarse and was thicker than he had realised. He smiled, rubbing its ears as one would a dog.

Gildor, watching, arched an eyebrow but made no comment. Instead he said softly to Erestor, "He seems at peace with you. I think he's just asleep."

"He must have been hurt when the fire started. See, here on his head? This lump?" Erestor moved Elrohir's hair back and, taking Gildor's hand, placed it on the swelling. "I think he might be concussed – he seems to think he's still a child. When he heard the thunder, he must have imagined it was – well, a Balrog. I wish his father was home to care for him, but Onnenad is competent. We need to get him back."

"We have to wait till the rain lifts," Glorfindel said, returning to the fire and adding one of the cuts of wood that he had found. "And if he's concussed, aren't we meant to keep him awake, Erestor?"

Erestor shook his head slowly, looking a query to Gildor who was still examining Elrohir's head. "I – think not? He must have been wandering around like that for hours. I would suppose he needs rest. I don't know for certain. If we can keep him warm here, do you think it’s all right to wait until the storm dies down?"

"That would be best," Gildor said. "As for possible concussion, we need to watch his breathing and wake him every few hours to make sure he can be woken."

Glorfindel rolled his eyes but aloud he just said, "Some one needs to go back and tell Elladan before he's tempted to send out search parties."

Erestor nodded. "True. He must be sick with worry about his brother." He looked down at Elrohir, then up at his two companions. "Well, I can hardly go. It will have to be one of you – the other can keep me company and help feed the fire."

Blue eyes met across the small fire. Over the sounds of rain and sullen sheep, silence reigned.

Finally Gildor said mildly, almost casually, "As a member of Elrond's household you probably feel it is your responsibility to go, but will you be able to find your way back unaided? Darkness is falling; we are miles down the valley…?"

Glorfindel seemed to think about this for a moment, then he smiled pleasantly. "Well, when you put it like that, I have to accept you are better suited to the task."

Gildor, who had plainly expected demurral and argument to which he would have acquiesced with a show of reluctance, stared.

Glorfindel's smile broadened but did not quite reach his eyes. "Appeals to my pride seldom goad me into anything," he said easily. "If they did I would have sworn that damned Oath and now where would I be? No, I’m sure you are the right person to go for help. I will stay and do - whatever Erestor finds for me to do."


	3. A Place of Future Dreams - 3/3

The thunder had faded to a distant rumble with occasional shimmers of light across the sky in the east, but the wind had increased and the rain was relentless. Glorfindel stood in the entrance watching tree boughs slash air, their shapes stark against the night sky. What could be seen of the landscape was uniformly wet, cold and miserable.

Behind him the fire burnt bright and steady, bathing everything in a golden glow. Elrohir still slept, his head in Erestor's lap. More sheep had found their way inside and their body heat helped draw the ice from the air, which went a long way to making the smell forgivable. Central to this unlikely scene was Erestor, sitting straight and still, his hair clinging wetly about his shoulders. He was gazing into the flames, lost in thought.

Glorfindel came back to crouch beside the fire, holding his hands out to it for warmth. "Anything else I can do? Fire's built up; sheep seem to be keeping their distance…" He gestured towards Elrohir. "He's still asleep?"

"Oh, yes… yes he is." Erestor had been far away, starting and looking around the shelter when Glorfindel spoke to him. "I hope he stays like that till help comes. It shouldn't take Gildor long to get back to the House. In fact he should already be there. He has a wonderful sense of direction."

"Hmph."

The snort received no response from Erestor. After a minute Glorfindel's eyes returned to Elrohir. "Is he still shivering?"

"A bit. He's chilled through - his clothes were drenched."

"He's not the only one who got soaked," Glorfindel pointed out. "Nothing I can do about wet clothing, but I can dry your hair off a little if you'd like?"

Erestor put a hand to his head and grimaced. "It feels like I dipped it in a bucket of water," he acknowledged. "And it's ice cold."

Glorfindel went to retrieve his cloak which he had left hanging from a nail in the roof beam above the entrance. "You need to get up and walk around a little. It'll warm you up. Elrohir will be all right next to the fire. We're here to watch him.""

"I don't like the idea of him lying with his head on the ground," Erestor admitted softly. "I know he probably won't wake to notice it, but it feels… wrong."

Glorfindel thought a moment, then patted at his tunic, considering. "This isn't too wet. If I take it off and fold it into a pillow, would that be all right?

Erestor gave him a startled look. "You can't take your tunic off. You'll freeze."

Glorfindel grinned briefly, but the humour failed to touch his eyes. "I'm wearing an undershirt. Besides, this is not cold, Erestor. I have experienced 'cold' - Gildor could tell you about that. This is merely unpleasant."

Erestor was momentarily puzzled, then his face cleared. "You both crossed the Ice," he remembered. "Yes, I suppose this can't compare."

"Not really, no." Glorfindel tugged damp cloth up and over his head, then rolled the tunic deftly and placed it a short distance from Erestor. "Right, let's move him. Just slide him off your lap… that's right…"

Elrohir murmured softly as they eased him to lie with his head cushioned by the improvised pillow but he failed to wake. His breathing seemed normal though, and he appeared exhausted, not unconscious. The lump on his head was more pronounced but, as best Erestor could tell, there was no other damage. However, neither he nor Glorfindel had the healer's gift for sensing injury by touch, so a proper examination would have to wait till later.

Finally free to move, Erestor rose stiffly, stretching and yawning expansively.

"It's been a long day?" Glorfindel agreed sympathetically.

"Long enough. First the fire and now this. My legs feel numb from kneeling like that."

"Do you have any idea what happened back at the House?" Glorfindel moved up behind him as he spoke, the cloak slung over his arm. He hooked Erestor's hair back into a single wet, black fall and squeezed gently, trying to remove excess water. "What did Elladan tell you? I only heard the end."

"They wanted to surprise their parents when they got home. It was a joint effort - Arwen found the fireworks, Elladan brought them back up to the House, and Elrohir was charged with storing them safely. He glanced over his shoulder at Glorfindel. "Something went badly wrong there."

Amber eyes danced in the soft light. Glorfindel's breath caught; they had never been this close before. Fair, very clear skin with a dusting of freckles across nose and cheekbones. Thick, dark lashes, a sweet, well-defined mouth, that dimple... Hastily he turned Erestor back to face the fire and wrapped the cloak loosely about the tangled curls.

"Horribly wrong, yes. He's lucky to be alive," he said, resuming the conversation. "Right. Let's see what I can do here." Placing his hands firmly on Erestor's head, he began to rub vigorously. '_Skull like a kitten_,' he thought distractedly. He would have to be careful not to be too rough…

"When you're finished, I'll do the same for you," Erestor said, interrupting his thoughts. The words came unsteadily as his head jerked under the warrior's ministrations.

Glorfindel pulled himself together and redoubled his efforts. "Thank you. This shouldn't take too long."

* * * *

"Does it look as bad as it feels?" Erestor asked ruefully. Even without a mirror he knew his hair presented an unruly frazzle. Not for the first time, he wished it was straight.

Glorfindel chuckled. "I like it. I wouldn't mind having curls."

Erestor considered the idea and shook his head. "I can't picture it. Yours is nice and wavy, but actual curls – somehow I think not. "

Currently the hair for which Glorfindel was named hung to his hips in a darkened, straggling mane. Erestor took the cloak and stood, waiting, until Glorfindel eventually followed his thoughts. "Would it be easier if I sat?" he asked. "Not that you're short or anything, but…"

"… but you are over-tall," Erestor said smugly. "Yes, that would be easier. I always thought the Elves of Gondolin were small-built and slender – or that’s what I heard as a child. Stories, probably," he added with an embarrassed glance up at his companion who was both broad shouldered and easily as tall as Lord Celeborn.

Grinning, Glorfindel tried unsuccessfully to look offended before bending to check on Elrohir, who lay curled on his side with his cheek resting on one hand. His breathing was regular and he was snoring softly. With a satisfied nod Glorfindel moved round the fire to sit with his back to the entrance. "Many of us were tall," he told Erestor. "My friend Ecthelion was half a head again taller than I. Though Turgon was a bit on the short side. All right if I sit here?" he added.

Erestor nodded quickly. "Yes, that's fine. So a children's tale then, short, willowy Elves in Gondolin?" He came to kneel behind Glorfindel as he spoke and started gathering the mass of golden hair back over his shoulders. It twined round his fingers, clinging like spiderweb. "It's not really all that wet," he said judiciously. "I'll just give it a quick rub. There's a lot of it but it's very fine – probably why it dries faster than mine."

He could hear his voice going on and on; he knew he was making a fool of himself but seemed unable to stop. Taking a breath, he set to rubbing. He wondered if Glorfindel would also, like him, find the sensation somehow – exciting. Come to think of it, he had never been this close to Glorfindel before, nor realised how big he was, how – solid. Erestor compressed his lips and told himself to focus on the task at hand.

"You've known Gildor a long time, haven't you?" Glorfindel asked quietly, breaking the silence that had fallen between them.

Erestor's hands slowed. "Since Lindon," he confirmed. "He used to visit there more often than he does here. I got to know him well. Afterwards – after the War, I mean – everyone I knew was either dead, going back over the Sea or coming here. The person I hoped to spend my life with had died, and I felt very lost. Gildor knew and invited me to travel with his people for a time." He paused, thinking back, then added with a half laugh, "That was meant to be a couple of months and stretched into over six hundred years."

"And then you came to Imladris?"

Erestor nodded, then realised Glorfindel couldn't see him. "My company passed through here several times a year. And I've known Elrond for ages – from Balar days. Each time he'd ask if I was ready yet to settle down. Finally I was."

Glorfindel nodded. "Mourning takes its own time. And so Gildor keeps visiting you now you've living here? That's – a good friend."

Erestor began trying to separate the more obvious knots his attempts had created. "Gildor visits Elrond as he always has, to report. We pass the time when he happens to be here, of course. Catch up on gossip. That's all."

"If you say so," Glorfindel responded dryly. "He spends far more time with you than he ever does with Elrond. He follows you around like a…"

"What absolute nonsense," Erestor snapped. He felt his cheeks flaming and was glad the reborn Elf had his back to him. "I have no idea where your dislike for him comes from. You must barely know him, but…"

"Not dislike, exactly, no," Glorfindel contradicted him, unruffled. "And hardly the first time we've met, either. I knew him well back in Tirion. He hasn't changed much."

His tone suggested that this was not necessarily a good thing.

"You knew one another in Tirion?" Erestor stopped working. "And yet neither of you ever talks about it."

Glorfindel was watching two large and elderly-looking sheep jostle one another for a place against the wall. "We were part of the same crowd," he said after a moment by way of explanation. "Though once we reached here, we moved in different circles."

"And yet you don't like him?" Erestor frowned. "Isn't that a little – biased?"

"Let's just say he had a reputation, even back then. And I knew at least one young girl who was a victim of his penchant for casual flirtations. Oh all right, she was my cousin so I had a close up view of the disaster. But she was hardly the only one."

"That," Erestor pointed out severely, "Was thousands of years ago. People change."

"Not that I've noticed. What else was he doing with you but flirting?"

"Glorfindel that is ridiculous!" Erestor said crossly, laying aside the cloak. "He does no such thing. We're old friends, he always talks to me like that. Your imagination is a wondrous thing…"

"You protest too much," Glorfindel retorted coolly, frowning over his shoulder. Almost casually, he turned and slung an arm around Erestor’s waist and pulled him close. Before he quite realised what was happening, a firm hand cupped his chin and Glorfindel tipped his face upwards and kissed him.

It was neither a timid nor a tentative sort of kiss. There was a warning brush of lips, then as Erestor drew breath to speak Glorfindel bent and claimed his mouth, his tongue passing slickly along the inner side of his lower lip before delving deep within. Arms tightening, he slid a hand behind Erestor's head, keeping it steady while he tasted and savoured, finally engaging.

Erestor placed a hand against his chest and pushed, but not very hard. For a minute he kept absolutely still, not believing what was happening, and then warmth slowly crept over him, a sweet tingling sensation the like of which he had not felt for the longest time. Slowly his hand moved seemingly of its own volition; from chest to shoulder, from shoulder to beneath the damp hair to the back of Glorfindel's neck. Closing his eyes he returned the kiss, slowly at first, and then with increasing fervour.

The moment ended when a restless sheep wandered over just as Glorfindel slid a warm hand under Erestor's still-damp tunic. The first cautious touch coincided with an exploratory nibble to Erestor's calf, causing him to jerk away with a startled yelp. Glorfindel snatched his hand back as though stung. Spotting the cause of the problem, he leapt to his feet, uttering a curse Erestor made a mental note to ask him to repeat later. Slowly.

Having intimidated the renegade sheep into rejoining the flock huddled on the opposite side of the shelter, Glorfindel returned and sank back down beside Erestor who was still chuckling. Frowning he beckoned and Erestor moved smiling back into his arms, reclining half in his lap with his head against Glorfindel's shoulder. He reached up to play with a lock of damp blond hair and solemn blue eyes in a grave, thoughtful face watched him.

"You taste like summer," Glorfindel said at last, his voice no louder than the crackle of the fire or the now reduced patter of the rain. "I have wanted to kiss you for the longest time."

He traced a finger across Erestor's cheekbone and up to follow the line of his eyebrow. It tickled in a shivery kind of way. A touch to the tip of his nose made him smile, which wasn’t enough for Glorfindel who finally shook his shoulder lightly. "Say something. Come, you're making me nervous."

"For once in my life, I think I'm too flabbergasted to know what to say," Erestor admitted on a gust of laughter. "Though I suppose we can hardly just sit here in silence. Perhaps you need to kiss me again while I'm trying to decide what I think about it?" He stopped smiling and searched Glorfindel's face, serious. "Kiss me again. Please?"

* * * *

The fire was starting to burn low. Erestor made careful work of positioning the last two pieces of wood while Glorfindel checked on Elrohir, making sure he was breathing evenly and that he was warm. The slide of muscle beneath his thin cotton undershirt caught Erestor's eye, and he smiled spontaneously. Glorfindel chose that moment to look in his direction and his lips curved in reply.

"It's just somehow – right – isn't it?" he said. "The setting, I mean. Small, intimate, the fire holding back the dark, the light softening everything, making the banal beautiful. Even the sheep…" He grinned, straightening up. "Even the sheep add ambiance."

He returned to sit behind Erestor, watching him nudge and adjust the wood, add twigs to the flames. "You do that well," he remarked, running a finger lightly down Erestor's back as he spoke.

Erestor glanced over his shoulder at him, shrugged. "Years of practice." Finished, he brushed his hands off and shuffled back to lean against Glorfindel. "I can't light a fire the way Gildor does," he added. "He has the gift, he can hold his hand over wood and warm it. But once it's lit, I can keep it going well enough. You learn that in the Companies. Fire is important; it holds back the creatures that walk in the dark."

Glorfindel stroked a tangle of dark curls aside and pressed a kiss to Erestor's neck. "I remember that from the road to Gondolin," he said. "To begin with we lit fires every night and sat close around them. Then when we reached the mountains there could be no more fires, nothing to give away our position. The nights were... very dark. We doubled the watch, though no one wanted to admit it was because of the fires. We crossed the Ice in semi darkness, after all, hoarding what wood we found for cooking."

Erestor rested his head back against Glorfindel’s shoulder and listened to the low voice reminiscing close beside his ear. Outside the wind still raged and the rain came in occasional drifts that sounded like handfuls of small stones striking the ground. Inside there was a tiny, self-contained world the like of which he had not shared for a long time. He turned his head and kissed Glorfindel, aiming for his cheek and finding his jaw instead. He was hugged in return.

"I was born in Nargothrond," he said, unsure if he had ever mentioned this before. "All of that was before my time, another world, but I heard of it from my family. My parents were amongst those who followed Fingolfin across to Middle-earth."

Glorfindel nodded. "Long way from Nargothrond to being a member of one of the wandering companies," he ventured.

Erestor nodded. "Perhaps, yes. I spent time with one of the early companies after the Worm took Nargothrond. Those few of us who survived did the best we could and I was lucky, I was very young and they let me travel with them to the coast to join Círdan’s people. From there I went to Balar, from Balar to Lindon."

"And from Lindon back into the wild."

Erestor nodded, his head against Glorfindel's cheek. One of the sheep wandered too close to the fire and they made shooing noises before turning to exchange smiles.

"And from that to Imladris," he finished more cheerfully. "A chequered life, but most of us born in the First Age can claim the same. Some more than others," he added after a moment's thought.

"You and Gildor...?"

Erestor pulled away from Glorfindel and turned to sit facing him. "You keep implying something there," he said, frowning. "In fact there is nothing to imply. Gildor gave me a place to heal and his friendship. Nothing more. I know he has a reputation for casual involvements, but I assure you I was never one of his trophies."

Glorfindel shook his head, his hands closing lightly over Erestor's upper arms. "I never meant to imply that," he said firmly, his eyes meeting Erestor's with sincerity. "I picked up an atmosphere – a connection -  between you and wanted to make sure I wasn't intruding on something with... well, this."

"This?" Erestor quirked an eyebrow, managing to keep a serious expression on his face. "And 'this' would be...?"

Silence between them, punctuated by a shoal of rain.

"I don't know," Glorfindel finally admitted. "A new beginning of some kind? For us both?"

Erestor looked down, quiet inside, gently touching old hurts and memories, looking for answers. There had been dalliances, but they had been casual, not meant to grow. This was different. When he looked up Glorfindel was watching him, his face unexpectedly vulnerable in the half light. "There has to be a new thing, doesn't there?" Erestor asked him. "Eventually. Not an end to memories or anything, just... something new?"

Somewhere not far away, horses could be heard and sounds that might belong to a cart. “Gildor's timing is impeccable,” Glorfindel muttered, but his arms went round Erestor and he drew him close.  "Something new," he agreed, his cheek against Erestor’s hair. "Not an end to anything, just... different memories to add to the ones we bring with us from our past? Nothing done in a rush, either – the gods know, an attraction like this was forbidden in Gondolin and I’ll need to find my way too. Just an agreement to see where the road will lead us. Will that answer for you?"

Erestor had heard the horses, too and huffed agreement about Gildor’s timing.  He looked up, studying Glorfindel's face. Finally he nodded. "That answers, yes." A smile tugged at his lips. "No commitment - what happens, happens. I like that. Do you think we have time to seal it with a kiss before they arrive?"

Something new, somewhere beyond loss and sorrow. A place of hope and future dreams. Glorfindel was smiling down into his eyes and cupped his face in hands that were big and warm and very gentle.  "Sounds like an excellent idea to me,” he said. “Maybe if we’re very lucky, there might even be time for two.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Caedion - son of the land  
> Níngabel - leaping waters  
> Cyllon - bearer  
> Berianir - protecting  
> Onnenad - born again
> 
> Betas: Ilye Elf and Red Lasbelin

**Author's Note:**

> Beta: Ilye Elf, Red Lasbelin


End file.
